


coloring outside the lines

by inklingchild



Series: Sanders Sides One Shots [5]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativitwins, Dukeciet - Freeform, Gen, Kinda, M/M, Meltdown, Neurodivergency, diner au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inklingchild/pseuds/inklingchild
Summary: It had been hours of staring at this stupid textbook, and Remus was fucking sick of it.  Cue him getting on his bike and riding aimlessly until he finds a cutesy little diner and a very cute diner owner's son.
Relationships: Creativitwins - Relationship, Creativity | Roman Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Sanders Sides One Shots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766344
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	coloring outside the lines

**Author's Note:**

> i am very tired. please let me know of any typos
> 
> tws: small discussion of dead bodys and burying them, dismissive family, minor meltdown, self harm (unintentional), food, one tiny mention of ableism
> 
> even after spending four hours on this, i'm not entirely sure remus actually gets the milkshake he orders

“Fuck!” Remus pushed away the textbook, scrap pieces of paper flying everywhere. “I’m never gonna get this fucking bullshit!” He threw his pencil at the books, and growled when it didn’t relieve his rage. “I’m so fucking dumb, for fuck’s sakes-”

He violently flapped his hands once, twice, before he snatched a couple wooden pencils from his satchel.  _ Red _ , he realized,  _ they’re probably Roman’s,  _ before promptly snapping them over his knee. The pleasant  _ crack _ of the wood gave him a small reprieve before the never ending anger and shame flooded his system once more. 

_ Never be as good as stupid, fucking Roman. _

He made a guttural sound and slammed his hands on the edge of the table. He did it over and over until his palms were red and beating. He started scratching instead. _ Roman wouldn’t react like this, would he? _

He scratched harder.  _ Remus, why can’t you get good grades like Roman? _

The itch under his skin started crawling onto his face.  _ Remus, why can’t you play such nice music like Roman? _

He raked his jagged nails down his face.  _ Remus, why can’t you stay out of trouble like Roman?  _

He nicked a scab.

Finally, the pain began registering in his mind and he hissed as he dragged his fingers away from his face. The itch stayed, but the throbbing sensation of the lines scratched across his face kept the flood at bay. “Fucking damnit,” he slammed his hand down on the table. His pencil pouch fell off the desk.

He sat there not a second more, the urge to keep scratching getting louder and louder by the second. He stalked off into the shared bathroom,  _ painted red because of Roman, a shower curtain covered in crowns because of Roman, the plush rug because of Roman, Ro _ **_man, Roman-_ **

He splashed his face with cold water, rinsing off the small pinpricks of blood and watching them circle down the drain. He dried his face off and slapped another bandaid across the peeled off scab, hoping he wouldn’t pick it off again. This already was the sixth time.

He made his way down the hallway, passing his bedroom. He stopped right outside Roman’s room, the bright yellow crown sticker plastered to the door. For a moment, he stared at the sticker and considered asking his brother for help. Once upon a time, Roman and Remus did everything together and between the two of them, nothing could stop them. 

But he was the villain in Roman’s fairytale, not even worthy enough of being a measly sidekick. He kicked the door with the toe of his sneaker, allowing himself a small, dismal smile at the sudden squawk that echoed from behind the door. He hurried down the stairs at the end of the hallway, eager to find his way out of the house before Roman could follow him and tattle. As soon as he heard Roman stomping down the hallway, he already had his gloves and hat on and promptly shut the door, blocking out the sound of the Offended Princey Noises (his last name was Prince too, did no one realize that?) Remus hopped on his bike, and pedaled away. 

Theoretically, Remus knew he should’ve been paying attention to where he was going. He forgot his phone in his room - though he usually left at home anyways - and thus knew that if he was lost, that was it. It was getting dark too, and the wind picking up made him shiver in his thin tank top. For a moment, he considered whether he should be worried about being berated by his parents, but no matter what he did that day, stay at home and study for finals or smash in the windows of the local police precinct, he would have been lectured.

They probably would bring up Roman too.

Fuck Roman.

Or don’t actually, they were brothers, that was weird.

He decided that he didn’t care about getting home on time - he did care, very much so - and travelled aimlessly around the outdoor mall he stumbled upon, until he found a neat little cafe. A sign with  _ Patton’s Pick-Me-Up _ in light blue neon lights sat at the top of an awning, little tables littering the front of the shop. Normally, Remus wouldn’t be caught dead going into a shop like this, but he had fifteen bucks in his back pocket and it was getting cold (plus there was something so quintessentially  _ Roman _ about the place, that the empty spot in his heart that Roman used to occupy ached). 

He parked his bike right outside the windows of the shop and made his way inside, a cute bell ringing above him as he entered. Blue pinstriped wallpaper covered the inside of the little diner, and the booths and counter seats were made of a classic vinyl. For seven at night on a Tuesday, the diner was decently filled, people chattering away over fries, burgers, and delicious looking milkshakes. Remus felt slightly out of place in a restaurant as sweet as this, but he felt out of place most of the time anyways, so he figured it was no sweat off his back.

He walked up to the counter, claiming one the tall seats, and picked up a menu. It had the standard list of diner food, cheeseburger, fries, an ridiculously huge assortment of cookies (maybe that one wasn’t so normal), and, of course, various flavors of milkshakes. There wasn’t anything particularly new or interesting about this specific menu of milkshakes, so he decided to toss the menu aside, and people watch.

He twisted around in his seat and decided that every single person here looked absolutely  _ boring _ . No excited pins on backpacks, or interesting stickers on phone cases. No one wore very outlandish clothing, with the odd exception of a banana t-shirt that should not have made Remus smile so much. Looking around, he realized that yes, Roman would like this place. It was cute and normal and very much not Remus’s style, so it would be a perfect place to hang out without his brother hanging around over his shoulder.

(Remus would deny it to the day he died the way his heart throbbed with pain at the reminder that his brother disliked him so much. In fact, he simply pushed that little fact way way down, until a later time, like the middle of the night, to contemplate on.)

“Hi! Welcome to Patton’s Pick-Me-Up!” Remus startled slightly, whirling around in his seat to find a freshly middle-aged man in a blue polo standing behind the counter. “Sorry, kiddo, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man flashed a smile, a gap in his two front teeth making the man seem like an overexcited puppy. “What can I do for you?”   
  
Remus smirked. “The real question is,” he paused dramatically, “is what I can do for you?” He waggled his eyebrows, giving his best suggestive eyes. The man behind the counter furrowed his brow, his mouth pinched, before his eyebrows went up in shock and began stammering refusals. Remus merely cackled in response.

“I’m joshing you, daddy-o, you are much too old for my tastes.” The man’s tense shoulders, and he nodded, though he was obviously shaken.

“Well then, kiddo, is there something you wanna order?” the man asked, his smile strained.

“Ah, the million-dollar question, uh, Pat-ton,” Remus read off the name tag, “Oh! That would make you the owner, very clever name for your little place here. I would love a chocolate milkshake please.” The man in question, Patton nodded rapidly.

“One chocolate milkshake, then. Anything else, kiddo? A sandwich, a basket of fries? On the h-”

“Nope!” a new voice called out. “Father of mine, you have given out too many free things today, your maximum has been met  _ hours _ ago.” A boy, around Remus’ age, had popped his head out from behind the door to the kitchen. He had burn scars littering one side of his face and a yellow beanie perched on top of a mop of curly brown hair. His glittering grey eyes made Remus want to sweep a hand through his knotted hair and smooth down his crunched up tank top. 

Patton turned to the new person, a childish pout on the man’s face, “Oh, but come on, Dee-Dee! You know how I hate making people pay for food.” The boy in question scoffed.

“Yeah, well, you run a restaurant, pops, that’s what you do, you make people pay for food.” Dee-dee made his way from behind the door and towards where his dad was standing. He stood up on his toes (the boy was very small, in comparison to both Patton  _ and _ Remus) to press a kiss to his dad’s cheek. “Father was asking for you in the back, I’ll keep the delinquent company.” 

“Alright, kiddo, shout if you need anything.” Patton gave Remus, who now had his head perched on his hand, a wary look, and in response, Remus batted his eyelashes innocently. Dee-dee snorted and gave his dad a gentle push to the door.

“Go, pops, I got this.” The man’s son and Remus watched until they saw that the restaurant owner was surely behind the kitchen door before looking back at each other. 

“So?”

“So what.”

“So apparently, you think I’m a delinquent,” Remus mused, eyebrows raised. Dee-dee raised his own in his response, in a more “but-of-course” gesture.

“You come into my fathers’ dining establishment in dyed hair, a shirt that says ‘riot’ and multiple bruises and bandaids and you expect me  _ not _ to think you’re a delinquent?” Remus shrugged, sitting up a bit.

“You have a point, Dee-dee.” The smaller boy was taken aback for a moment, and then turned scarlet.

“How do you know that name?” he hissed. Remus laughed at the boy’s red face and made an offhand motion towards the kitchen door.

“Your dear old dad called you that and I figured that was your name. That’s how names work, no?” Dee-dee sputtered and Remus let a Chesire smile spread across his face. “So,  _ Dee-dee _ , if you don’t want me to call you that, what should I call you?”

“Janus,” the boy spit out, still reeling, “you can call me Janus and you better forget that other name lest your family never receive a body to bury.” Remus set his head back on his hands again.

“Oh, Janny, my family could care less about me, you’ll have to find a better threat,” Remus purred. Janus opened his mouth to fire something back, but he paused, a concerned look overtaking his face. “Don’t worry, sweet face, I use humor to cope.” Janus gave him a weird look.

“Whatever you say. Though I wouldn’t be surprised, you look like the type of mangled rat with trauma my cat would leave on my doorstep.” Janus leaned forward onto the counter. Remus snorted.

“Though a rat I have been called, being called a traumatized rat mutilated by a cat is a new one.” 

“Oh? What other animals have you been compared to? I’m thinking a fruit fly, disgusting little things they are,” Remus laughed outright at that, ignoring the pang in his chest as he remembered the time Roman  _ had _ , actually, compared him to a mosquito.

“Well, it sounds, Mr. Janus, that you would actually like to keep up a conversation with me.”

“Well, Mr. Rat-with-Trauma, what if I do?”

The two kept talking for a while, even after another man, Janus’s other father, brought out Remus’s milkshake. They jumped from ridiculous names Remus had been called, to the incidents that landed Remus those nicknames, to the various nicknames Janus had been given, which led to an intense discussion of politics, for whatever reason. And they kept talking.

And they kept talking.

And they  _ kept talking. _

It was probably the longest conversation Remus had held, with, well, anyone in  _ years.  _ And he was  _ thriving _ .

It wasn’t until hours later did Remus even realize that the blinds on the windows had been drawn and that there was no one else in the diner. “Holy shit,” he said under his breath. Janus startled slightly, giving Remus an odd look.

“I agree that ableism in the American education system is atrocious, but I hardly think it warrants cursing.” Janus said, a touch offended. Remus didn’t say anything back, swiveling his head back and forth to look for a clock. “Or did I bore you that much?” he asked under his breath and Remus shot his focus back to Janus.

“No!” he practically shouted, startling both him and Janus, “no, no, not at all, that was the most interesting conversation I’ve had in ages, I just - fuck - I need to get home.” Remus hit the counter softly. “Damnit, I should’ve been paying attention to the times, fuck.”

“Oh! Uh…” Janus fidgeted slightly in place, not sure of what to say. “Can I help in any way?” Remus shook his head, before stopping and brightening. 

“Actually, you might be able to! Can I borrow your phone?” Janus pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over, and Remus immediately pulled up the maps app and put in his address. After figuring just where he was supposed to go to get back home, he handed the phone back to Janus. Janus just held it for a moment, looking for all the world that he might hand the phone back. “What?”

“Don’t you want to call anyone? Let them know you’re safe?” Remus barked out a short laugh and smiled sardonically.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said my family wouldn’t care if they had a body to bury.” Janus’ eyes went wide and he rushed to say something, but Remus beat him to it. “Well, hotcakes, this was definitely fun, but I’ve got to run before my head gets chopped off.” He slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter and slid out of his seat. Before Janus could say anything, Remus was already walking out the door.

“ _ Wait! _ ” Janus heard his voice echo throughout the diner, prompting both his fathers to poke their heads out of the kitchen door in concern. Remus stopped in his tracks and turned on his heels to face Janus, a slightly surprised look on his face. Janus blinked and then sped into action, running to the little half door to behind the counter and rushing to meet Remus at the door. He stopped short of running into the much taller teen, straining his neck to look up at him. They looked at each other for a moment, before Janus lifted a hand and swept his yellow beanie off his head, revealing a frizzy curls that Remus for a split second ached to run his hands through. Still keeping eye contact, he pressed the hat into Remus’ chest. “Now, you have to come back. You gotta give me back my hat.” Remus chuckled slightly.

“There are other ways of asking me to come back.” Remus said softly, “Like, you know, asking me to come back.” Janus’ cheeks turned red and he attempted to stammer a response. “No worries, sweetcheeks,” Remus bent down until his mouth was right next to Janus’ ear, “I’ll be back.” Without another word, Remus stood back up and left the restaurant. As soon as the cold autumn air hit him, he realized how red his face must be. He walked next to where he parked his bike, and looked through the glass door to see Janus still standing where Remus had left him. They locked eyes as Remus slid the yellow beanie over his head. Janus seemed to have erupted into giggles, tucking his smile behind his hand. Remus beamed, hopped on his bike, and booked it back home.

  
_ Yeah, _ he thought,  _ I’ll definitely be back _ .


End file.
